Morgan Freeman "Solves Race Issue"

I've been thinking a lot about Morgan Freeman lately, not because he's one of my favorite actors (he is), but because his name has come up on a few occasions as I discussed the issue of racism with a group of people. A few times now someone in the group brought to my attention that Morgan (is it okay if I call him that? I feel like I've known him forever) commented in an interview that he's against the celebration of Black History Month, and that the way to solve America's race problem is to ignore it. Here the interview clip if you're interested: Morgan Freeman Interview.

Now I know that Morgan Freeman cares deeply about race relations in America. The film, "Prom Night in Mississippi" leaves no doubt that Morgan is aware of and concerned about racial tension in America. The documentary shows what happens in the actor's home town, Charleston, Mississippi, when he offers to pay for the high school prom if students, parents, and school officials will allow the event to be racially integrated. Yes, that's right. In 2008, Charleston held it's first racially integrated prom and Morgan Freeman paid for it. It's a fascinating story and I recommend viewing the film.

So why would a person who is obviously concerned about the persistence of racism within the fabric of American culture make such a statement about Black History Month, and why would he propose ignoring race as a way to move past racism? While it's not my job to explain other people's ideas (actually it kind of is, because I'm a teacher, but you know what I mean) it seems obvious to me that Morgan is not advocating for a colorblind approach as it has existed in the U.S. for decades. White people have been ignoring race for a long time now, with unfortunate results for people of color. I believe the actor's point is that Black history is part of American history and should be fully integrated into school curriculum, not pulled out once a year as a tokenistic celebration that most people (read: white people) ignore. When that happens, perhaps it will signal that we CAN stop talking about race the way Morgan suggests. Personally, I hope and pray for the day when all individuals are granted equal access in education, employment, housing, and are treated equally in our criminal justice system. But that day has not yet arrived.

But what I find most interesting is not what Morgan Freeman said about race. Whether I agree or disagree, he's only one person and he's entitled to his opinion. What fascinates me is not the what, but the why -- why do white people quote this one African American voice during discussions of racism, while ignoring the multitude of other statements, essays, books, articles, films, etc., that relate a different point of view? (BTW, a few years ago white people were quoting Bill Cosby in much the same way.) Why do they embrace one person's advice while ignoring the voices of so many others? What do they have to gain?

Derrick Bell, a famous critical race scholar, coined the term "interest convergence" for the phenomena we're witnessing here. Bell said that white people will support equal rights only when it suits their own interests. So, as a white person I can happily ignore any opinions about racism that don't support my view of myself as a non-racist person, but jump on those voices that I agree with, that make me feel better about myself. After all, if a prominent African American actor like Morgan Freeman says I should ignore race, who am I to argue? I can use Morgan's statements, even if he doesn't exactly mean what I want him to mean, to prop up my own distaste of facing racism on individual and institutional levels. And I can feel good about doing so, all the time allowing my own motivations to remain unexamined.

Morgan Freeman

Writing While White

One doesn’t have to look far to find evidence that racism is alive and well in the U.S., where schools and the population in general are becoming increasingly diverse. Equally apparent is that some folks just aren’t having it. When, recently, white nationalists, neo-Confederates, and members of the Ku Klux Klan took to the streets of Charlottesville with their message, “white lives matter,” I have to say I was shocked but not surprised. I felt a visceral sense of shock and disgust at the news photo of torch-carrying whites, gathered en masse, shouting their message of exclusion. But I was not surprised at the message itself, because while the current political climate may have emboldened these individuals, their argument is nothing new. I’ve heard the reverse-racism discourse, the argument that whites are the new victims of racism and somehow need protection, many times from white friends, family, and students – people who would never take up a torch and march in defense of their perceived white supremacy. In fact, when I bring up the topic of racism in my classes I’m more surprised if students (usually white but not always) don’t launch into the reverse-racism discourse in the form of anti-affirmative action arguments than if they do. Most of these students have heard these arguments all their lives and have come to internalize the idea that if a person of color (excluding Asians – there’s a whole separate discourse for that) has advanced to an important or prominent position, he or she probably got there at the expense of a white person who worked harder and was more qualified.

In my ethnography of high school students called Race Among Friends,[i] I found that the reverse-racism discourse was prominent during class discussions of multicultural literature. Even among students who were deeply invested in their cross-racial friendships at this small, racially diverse school, the idea that racism is over and that African Americans use the “race card” to gain unfair advantage persisted.  When I started to think more deeply about the fiction these students had read in previous grades, the “classics” of the multicultural literature “canon,” it wasn’t hard to see, at least partly, why these attitudes endure. Many students are still reading the texts on race that you and I read when we were in school: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,[ii] by Mark Twain, and To Kill a Mockingbird,[iii] by Harper Lee. Both of these works still form the foundation of the multicultural canon in many school districts. Both were written by whites, and both depict the internalized racist attitudes that I (as a writer and as a person) and many whites struggle to recognize and overcome.

Much has been written about the racial language and images of Huck and Mockingbird, and I won’t take the time for an in depth analysis here, other than to say that both represent a complicated mix of brilliantly written narrative and hidden racialized meanings played out by the stories’ characters. For example, while some teachers and school districts still struggle over Twain’s use of racial epithets, Jane Smiley[iv] and Toni Morrison[v] point out that it was Twain’s depiction of Jim, the full-grown African American slave companion of Tom and Huck, as a child-like pawn in the hands of two white adolescents, with no voice and no say in his own future, that is truly problematic. Likewise, in the case of the much loved novel (and movie) To Kill a Mockingbird, the very title suggests an unexamined racism far more subtle than whether or not the characters use “the N word” (as my students say) in the story.  The title comes from Atticus’ admonition to his son, “Shoot all the bluejays you want…but remember, it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird” (Lee 90). Miss Maudie, a neighbor, clarifies: “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird” (90). So, who are the mockingbirds in the story? Lee creates a cast of “respectable Negros” who, like the proverbial mockingbird, know their place and don’t bother anyone. I had to smile a little last year at the distress of some readers over the depiction of Atticus in the Mockingbird sequel, Go Set a Watchman.[vi] How could this book depict the beloved Atticus, pillar of racial justice, as racist? Unfortunately, Atticus’ passively racist proclivities were always there; perhaps we weren’t looking carefully enough to spot them. While it's true that he did his best to defend Tom Robinson in court (putting himself and his children at risk), Atticus never completely disassociated himself from the racism of his time. He told his daughter that racists "are still our friends" (76) and are "entitled to full respect for their opinions" (105). He made light of the role of the Ku Klux Klan (147) and excused the head of a would-be lynch mob as "a good man" who "just has his blind spots along with the rest of us" (157).

My point is that even when white fiction writers are attempting to be anti-racist, it can be difficult for us to fully understand how deep and hidden our attitudes about race are, and we may inadvertently perpetuate racial stereotypes through our work. Lately I’ve been reading a young adult fantasy novel. I’m about 100 pages in, and so far there is one dark skinned character, a man, in the story. He’s described as dark, muscular, and altogether gorgeous; his sensual masculinity jumps off the page and, of course, the white female protagonist is immediately attracted to him. Okay, I know there needs to be some kind of romantic attraction to satisfy readers, but the way this character fulfils the trope of the powerful black male who protects and dominates the white woman is so obvious that it’s startling. Am I saying the author is racist? No more than I am, because I’m guilty, too. A few years ago I published a young adult novel[vii] that explores the awakening of a white teen who comes to understand racism as she forms new relationships with teens of color. I tried my best to vary my characters in appearance and personality and to make them rich and complex. At the beginning of the story, Rachel, my protagonist, meets a group of five students from other school districts who will become her close friends. As I was writing, I decided that I had too many characters to suit my purposes, so I had to make one go away. Guess who left the group? The one Asian-American character in the story. Without realizing it I fulfilled the stereotype of the silent Asian, the “model minority,” who fades quietly into the background. How frustrating that even when I was trying to explore and expose racism, my own internalized dispositions about race popped out and got the best of me.

I don’t think that white people should stop including characters of color in their works, nor should we stop exploring racism in our writing. On the contrary, now, more than ever, whites need to name and expose racism in all its forms. We are at a wretched, horrifying place in our country where racist views are being accepted and promulgated by mainstream authority.  But, as I concluded in Race Among Friends, we whites must think, write, and perhaps most importantly, teach with deeper introspection, examining our own hidden attitudes about race first, lest we perpetuate the very attitudes we seek to expose.

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[i] Modica, Marianne. Race Among Friends. Rutgers University Press, 2015.

[ii] Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Brandywine Studio Press, 2008.

[iii] Lee, Harper. To Kill a Mockingbird. New York: Warner Books, 1960.

[iv] Jane Smiley, "Say It Ain't So, Huck: Second Thoughts on Mark Twain's 'Masterpiece'" Harper's Magazine 292.1748 (Jan. 1996): 61-67.

[v] Morrison, Toni.  Playing in the Dark. New York: Random House, 1993.

[vi] Lee, Harper. Go Set a Watchman.  Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2016.

[vii] Modica, Marianne. The R Word. Endless Press, 2015.

Immigrant Anxiety is Nothing New

I recently had the pleasure of sharing my talk about "Living in More than One World" at Calvary Church in Wyncote, PA. (I feel a little like the Sigourney Weaver character in one of my favorite movies, Galaxy Quest -- I have one sermon, and I'm gonna preach it!) Anyway, I'm thankful for the opportunity to share with such a responsive group of people.

Just a quick synopsis of my message for context's sake -- during the talk I explore three stories of people who had to learn to live in more than one world. Story #1 looks at the early life of Moses from the first few chapters of the book of Exodus. Story #2 takes a peek at Ryan King, the protagonist of my middle grade novel, King Me! Finally, story #3 describes my own journey as a white person who needed to learn that my experience is not universal. During this part of the talk I explore the unearned, invisible privileges my whiteness affords me.

As I was reviewing my notes in preparation, the story of Moses jumped out at me for its relevance to our current world situation. Written thousands of years ago, this second book of the Pentateuch begins with the story of an immigrant population, the Hebrews, who suffered great oppression at the hands of their host country. Maybe you know the story -- Joseph and his family migrated to Egypt because of a famine (in other words, they were refugees). The Hebrew population flourished there, and after several centuries a king came to power who wasn't too happy about the presence of the Hebrews. Why? There might have been lots of reasons, but the text tells us that the king was worried because, in his mind, there were just too many Israelites around. "Come," he said, "we must deal shrewdly with them, or they will become even more numerous and if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country" (1:10). Sound familiar? This very rationalization was used to place over 100,000 Japanese people, the majority of whom were U.S. citizens, in camps during WWII. As our government has since admitted, many Japanese children, women, and men suffered because of anxiety and fear fueled by racism. 

Tragically, some haven't seemed to learn from either the ancient or recent past. It's becoming common in some circles to conflate the categories "immigrant," "refugee," and "terrorist" as if the words are interchangeable. Of course, they are not. The world is a scary place, I get it. We need to be careful, okay, I think we can all agree on that. But when we let fear take the place of rational thought, when apprehension outweighs logic, when anxiety overpowers compassion, we may find ourselves in an endless loop, repeating variations of the same sad, terrifying story. I know, the U.S. is not forcing anyone into slavery or relocating them to internment camps. But the recent so-called travel ban was so swiftly and poorly executed that, to me, it seemed more an expression of anger and anxiety than an attempt at national safety. Other more horrifying recent suggestions take us closer to the loop, such as watches on Muslim neighborhoods and a required Muslim registry.

Since I started with a sci-fi quote, I guess it's fitting I end with one. From Battlestar Galactica (also found in Ecclesiastes 1:9 and apparently in Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie) -- "All of this has happened before and will happen again." But does it have to? Maybe I'm hopeful, or maybe I'm just stubborn, but I don't believe we're destined to repeat our mistakes. We can stop the loop if we insist our leaders take actions based on logical, reasonable analysis of facts tempered with compassion, and not on rhetoric peppered with conflation and deflection (honestly, some of the arguments I'm hearing lately wouldn't pass muster in a freshman college writing course). Regardless of our political persuasion or who we voted for, we can agree that the role of government is to keep citizens safe. But we can do better than instituting sweeping orders based on fear and devoid of nuance. We must.

OK, You're Not Racist. Now Prove It.

It's been a few days since the election and it's taken me that time to put my emotions in check and gather my thoughts. As a person who believes that her faith compels her toward social justice, this has been hard for me. I'm going light on social media these days, too, because I'm tired. Maybe you feel the same. So much has been, is being, and will continue to be said about this election that really, what can I add? But there is one thing I want to say before, for my sanity and inner peace, I need to move on. So here it is, for what it's worth.

Several of my friends have posted that they voted for the Republican nominee, but please don't call them racist. Please don't make assumptions about them because of how they voted. Okay, I understand. People make assumptions about me all the time and I don't like it either. Plus, I've learned that calling people racist is not the way to keep dialog open, which has always been my goal. And the truth is, I know these people well. They're my friends and I really don't think they are racist (most of them, anyway). So, maybe they voted the way they did because they want more jobs, or they're pro-life, or they want change, or they don't like the Affordable Care Act, or they felt they had no other choice because as much as they don't like him, they don't like her even more. Okay, whatever. I suppose there are many reasons a person could vote for someone who promotes dangerous stereotypical ideas about entire populations. Let's face it, most of us don't agree with everything any one candidate says or stands for, and when it comes down to it, most of us vote based on an overall philosophical or religious stance, not on everything the candidate or party promotes. I get that.

But here's what I don't get. During the days, weeks, and months leading up to the Republican primary there were so many choices. There were so many people who I considered to be more worthy candidates -- people who were experienced, reasonable, didn't insult others, people I could have lived with. Perhaps you voted for one of them. How did it happen, then, that the one candidate who continually spewed insults and basically acted like a seventh grader (apologies to seventh graders everywhere) became the Republican nominee? How is it that the majority of people who voted in the Republic primaries voted for the one person who created such a toxic environment? There were so many other choices. 

Therefore, I can't help but believe that while you may not be racist, somewhere out there, somebody is. Somewhere out there are a large number of people who agree with the incindiary comments he made about whole groups of people throughout the election season. That is what frightens me the most. 

So, here's my challenge. If you're truly not racist, prove it. Demand from your President a reasonable and compassionate approach to immigration. Demand that law enforcement personnel be both supported AND accountable for their actions. Demand that whatever replaces the Affordable Care Act take into account people who can't afford insurance premiums and who don't make enough money to create health savings accounts. Demand that equitable education for all our children be a priority. 

And don't put up with those people within your sphere of influence who will feel emboldened by the election results to perpetuate stereotypes or make racist statements in their everyday conversations. Whether during a conversation with  Uncle Whoever at Thanksgiving dinner or with your neighbor while you're out raking leaves, shut it down in no uncertain terms. You might say something like, "Yes, I agree we need more jobs, but I don't agree that all Muslims are terrorists. That's ridiculous." Or, "I agree that we need to secure our borders, but I know that most undocumented immigrants are hard working people who are trying to find a better life and support their families." 

With power comes responsibility. With control comes accountability. Now is your time. Prove it.

Hearing the Hurt

I had a hard time sleeping last night. It was the voices.

No, I'm not losing it (yet). The voices I heard were real - they were the voices of people who shared openly and honestly last night at a community forum on race. Twenty-five or so folks of diverse racial backgrounds met in a small room at a public library to talk about race relations. I spoke a little but mostly I listened to the voices of African American neighbors in pain. Here's some of what I heard:

"Why did it take me so long to get a job? I have a degree and ten years of experience. I was told several times that I was the most qualified. So why did it take me so long to get a job?"

"Why do I have to see Confederate flags in people's windows when I walk to work? Do they understand what that symbol means? Why do my kids have to see that symbol of hate when they walk to school every day?"

"The N-word is flown like crazy here. Why is there so much anger in this area?"

"I was raised to respect authority. I'm proud to have served my country in the military. Why do I have to be afraid when a police car slows near me?"

"Why was my daughter treated so poorly by some of the white athletes at her high school? And why didn't the administration do anything about it when I complained?"

As a white person, I can never fully understand what it must feel like to live with questions like these every day of my life. As a white person, I have the privilege of pulling race out of my back pocket when I feel like dealing with it and keeping it safely tucked away there when I don't. As a white person, I don't have to live with the hurt. But I hear it. And I'm sorry.

Colin Kaepernick and The Anger

Have you noticed that conversations about race often result in anger? And, for better or worse, social media has provided a ripe environment for the expression of that anger. Take, for example, the latest controversy over the decision by several NFL players to use body language during the playing of the National Anthem to express dissatisfaction over the treatment of people of color in this country. Most players are “taking a knee” (a position associated with prayer in religious traditions and with quiet respect for an injured player in sports), although a few have sat or raised fists in protest. None of this is new, of course. A very long time ago some kids at my high school sat when the National Anthem was played during school assemblies to protest the war in Vietnam. I was one of them. Back then, no one seemed to care all that much, at least in my New York City public school. There were no cameras recording our every move and as long as we were quiet, the teachers didn’t say a word about it.

Today, however, this kind of stuff is making some folks very angry. I’m not afraid of anger – in fact, I find it to be a familiar companion. It doesn’t take much to annoy me and I’m usually perfectly happy to tell you how the world would be a better place if only people did things my way. Though I try to be a nice person, I can be a little crotchety and you’ll want to keep your distance if I’m hungry – “hangry” is the better term. But the kind of anger I’m talking about is a much stronger emotion. It’s much deeper than my flittering annoyance – it lives in a hidden place where it smolders quietly, ready to explode when someone primes the pump. Some of the nicest people I know, kind, caring people, can let loose a rage on Facebook that leaves me concerned and a little perplexed. And while I think that anger can benefit us if it spurs us to some needed action, it can also blind us. Left unexamined, anger can block other important emotions like empathy, kindness, and supportiveness. It can hinder our ability to understand someone else’s perspective. So, anger should be fully explored. Where is the anger that surrounds issues of race coming from? What’s at the bottom of it, and why is it so tenacious?

Let me give you an example of some fairly explosive anger I witnessed first hand over the topic of race relations. I was researching 11^th grade honors students’ responses to The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison’s devastating depiction of Depression era racism in the U.S. The book especially focuses on the emotional damage inflicted on African American women by the dominance of white beauty standards. The students’ responses formed the basis of chapter four in my book, Race Among Friends.

If you’ve read The Bluest Eye you know that the content is enough to make anyone angry. African Americans in the novel are treated deplorably, but the treatment of the children is especially hard to take. Reading that book could and should make anyone angry. If it doesn’t, we’re either heartless or we’ve shielded ourselves from anything other than happy, positive feelings (unless something goes wrong that directly affects us personally, of course. Then it’s okay to feel angry or sad). So, one might have expected the African American students in the class to respond to Morrison’s text in anger. Reading the brutal details of how one’s ancestors were treated simply because of the color of their skin could, understandably, make one angry.

I’d like to start this paragraph with the words, “Imagine my surprise,” but the truth is I was not surprised at all at what happened in that classroom. Because I’ve been talking about race for a long time in a variety of settings, I wasn’t surprised at who got angry and who didn’t. It wasn’t the black kids who got angry. It wasn’t the kids who had to read about people of their background being degraded and humiliated who lashed out in anger at their classmates. It was the white kids. And they weren’t angry about the treatment of the characters in the novel, either. No. They were angry that we were reading the story at all. In their view, racism was over and they were sick of hearing about it. Slavery happened a long time ago – why couldn’t people just get over it? Why couldn’t the young girl in the story who was made to feel that her blackness made her ugly just look in the mirror and say, “I’m beautiful”? The deeper we delved into the book, the angrier the white kids became. “Why are you trying to make us feel guilty?” they demanded to know. Racism was not their fault. Racism was over. And the more we pointed out ways that racism is not, in fact, over, the more strongly they resisted. When their African American “friends” in the class tried to explain their point of view, many white students simply could not or would not understand. Their anger stood in the way. So what was going on here? What was the source of all this anger?

Back to those NFL protests – why does the peaceful protest of a few football players generate such an intensity of anger for some? Is it the form the protest is taking – the perceived disrespect to the symbols of our nation? What would be a better form of protest? Picketing? Stopping traffic? A work stoppage? A boycott? Disruption of a government function? How about instituting a government shutdown with possible loss of pay for thousands of veterans? For some, the symbols of the flag and the National Anthem have been elevated to religious status and any deviation from the proper body language (even not placing one’s hand over one’s heart during the Pledge) is an insult that cannot be tolerated.

But I think there’s more going on here. I believe that the anger expressed through social media over the NFL players’ protest is comparable to that of those 11^th graders reading The Bluest Eye. Deep down, some folks just don’t understand what the protest is about. These folks may be angry because they feel national symbols are being disrespected (although Colin Kaepernick, the 49er who started it all, has repeatedly said he intends no disrespect), but they are also angry at the claim that racism still exists. Just like those high school students, they don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Some of them might believe that if anyone is being discriminated against, it’s whites – whites who don't get jobs, whites who don’t get scholarships, whites who don’t get whatever, because less deserving black people get them instead. And it is often the case that when whites perceive a potential loss of their position of dominance, anger is the result.

This also explains why some whites simply cannot understand the Black Lives Matter movement, no matter how many times it’s explained to them. Admitting that racial discrimination still exists and that whites hold an advantaged status may require the willingness to give up that unearned advantage. For some, this takes the idea of racial justice entirely too far.

I heard a young black male put it this way. He shook his head in quiet resignation and said, “Black Lives Matter has been around for a long time now. It’s been explained over and over. I’ve come to realize that if people still don’t understand, it’s because they don’t want to understand.” Note, this young man was not angry, only painfully resigned.

So I’ll end by encouraging us all to examine our anger. Think about where your anger is coming from. For those of Christian faith, remember that the Bible instructs us to “Be angry, yet do not sin. Do not let the sun set on your anger, and do not give the devil a foothold” (Eph. 4:26 & 27). If a desire to hang on to the status quo is fueling your anger, it might be time to take a closer look. We all feel angry sometimes, but if we let that anger block our ability to think logically, to feel empathy, or to understand someone else’s perspective, only trouble will result.